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overed his chin.
“You’re Marie-Noelle’s daughter. You look just like her.”
Rowan stepped back and nodded. “You knew my mother?”
The man nodded. “I did.” A sad smile now graced his rough-hewn features. “Back before she had her, ah, breakdown. She was full of fire that one.” His face darkened as he looked at Azaiel. “I don’t think she’d like the thought of you running around with someone like him.”
Azaiel arched a brow and stepped up beside Rowan. He was close enough to the bartender that if the man decided to insult him again, he could easily snap the man’s neck and be done with it. “Someone like me?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.
The bartender, however, refused to back down. “Yeah, someone like you.” The man shook his head and took a step back. “Far be it for me to advise you on your choice of company.” He nodded to Rowan. “But you’re asking for trouble with him around. The kind of trouble that got your mom all messed up.”
Azaiel would have moved forward, but Rowan’s hand on his arm kept him still. “You don’t know anything about my mother.”
“I know more than you think I do,” the burly man growled.
“Who are you?” Rowan’s voice rose.
The bartender didn’t skip a beat. “I’m a soldier in this war, same as you. I might be human, but that gives me more of a stake in this mess, don’t you think? My family, my wife and kids, are everything to me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe.” He sneered as his gaze settled on Azaiel. “Safe from the likes of him.”
“Look, I don’t have time to debate the war or the baddies you’re not keen on. If you really want to help, then tell my cousin I’m here.”
Several long seconds passed before the bartender reluctantly reached beneath the bar and grabbed a phone. He turned, but Azaiel heard his words nonetheless. “She’s here, and she’s not alone.”
He then turned back to them and gestured toward a table hidden in shadows near the exit. “Hannah will be out in a minute. We had a cook quit earlier in the week, so she’s filling orders and helping out in the kitchen.”
“Thank you,” Rowan murmured.
“You can thank me by keeping your pet on a tight leash.”
Azaiel ignored the taunt and followed Rowan to a table. He was aware of the eyes upon them—of the interest they generated, and the lust that filled the eyes of the woman two tables over. She smiled as Azaiel passed, her shoulders hunched forward, her breasts on display.
And he felt nothing.
Rowan followed the line of his gaze as she slid into the seat opposite him. “If we had time, I’m sure you could score some of that.”
“Not interested.”
“Really?”
He settled his large frame into the smallish wood chair. “Why do you find it hard to believe I don’t want to have sex with that woman?”
Her cheeks flushed pink at his words. “I didn’t mean . . . ah, I wasn’t talking about sex.”
His eyebrow rose, and the flush in her cheeks darkened even more.
“What I meant was that most guys would be all over a woman like that.”
Azaiel leaned closer, his elbows on the table. “What kind of woman is she?” He slid a glance sideways, vaguely disgusted by the provocative display as the woman in question licked her lips and smiled at him.
Rowan’s eyes were on the woman. “She’s obviously the kind of woman who doesn’t care that you’re with someone. She wants you and wants you to know it.” Her blue eyes settled back onto him. “Most men would follow her up on her offer, or at the very least be somewhat flattered.”
“There you have it,” he said softly, enjoying himself.
“Excuse me?” Her arched brows furled, and once more, his gaze was drawn to her mouth.
“I’m not most men.”
They stared at each other for a long time. Or at least it seemed that way, but as with everything of late, things were about to get dicey.
